


It's Nice To Have A Friend

by noahs



Category: Fashion Model RPF, Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Cant believe ss slandered this song when paper rings exists, F/F, Friends to Lovers, ITHAF is about being a closeted lesbian and this fics proves it, My shortest work bc if i kept going was gonna make it angsty and i needed this to be pure fluff, Pining, Song: It's Nice to Have a Friend (Taylor Swift), This is so cheesy please, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, first time i start to write something in third pov and it turns out to be third pov actually, free of angst i think, lowkey a drabble, second pov cant come to the phone right now, theres like two salty paragraphs, unlinear timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 06:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20701598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noahs/pseuds/noahs
Summary: Karlie smiles “Wanna hang out?” Taylor returns her smile “Yeah, it sounds like fun.”Taylor calls all her schedule off only so she can be cooped up in West Village a whole weekend, barefoot and eating ice cream right out of the tub, chocolate stains on both their faces.It’s nice to have a friend.They sit on the roof of her Rhode Island home under a light pink sky, drink beer out of plastic cups and when their naked knees accidentally brush, Taylor’s breath absolutely doesn’t hitch.Not in the slightest.





	It's Nice To Have A Friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alphahope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphahope/gifts).

> Was gonna post another work first but i thougth you would aprecciate this more since it's softer. Your comments always put a smile on my face (even when u drag me) This is for you <3

The first time Taylor hears her name, she’s getting her hair straightened out, the slight curly tips fading away with the heat.

“Karlie Kloss?” She repeats. The name sounds pleasant to her ears in that way alliterate names do.

Her stylist hums. “Yes. You two should met, you are the same.” She turns to the guy doing her eyebrows. “Doesn’t she remind you of Karlie?”

Joseph’s hands stop to give Taylor a look over. “They kinda look alike.”

“Exactly! And Karlie is such a good girl, I think you would be best friends.”

“Karlie Kloss.” Taylor repeats again and after her show is done that night, she sits in the living room and opens her laptop with a glass of Tennessee Whiskey. She googles her name and a brunette taller than herself shows up. She’s a model a few years younger than her that has walked more shows Taylor knew a model was able to walk. She’s named “The Panther” and has a stare so captivating that has Taylor watching videos of her runaways. She spends all her night like that, watching pictures, reading about her impressive trajectory in the fashion world, about her love for baking and trying to figure out if she and this Karlie really look alike.

In the end she decides that yes, they do look alike and that they would get along. She goes to sleep thinking that they should met.

In the morning, Taylor wakes up slightly hungover, feeds Meredith and forgets about Karlie.

*

Taylor catches glimpses of Karlie over the years. Models and artists share some circles and with each girl’s increasing fame in their areas, they were bond to cross paths at least once.

They also have a friend in common and Lily is the only reason Taylor manages to exchange more than three words with Karlie in the Met Gala.

Her Dior gown is golden and when Taylor jokes about a bake date and Karlie laughs, she decides right away that they should be friends.

But Taylor has always been bad at remebering, and they don’t see each other.

Not until Taylor is called to perform at Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show and she stays glued to Lilly side until Karlie comes gushing to her, talking as if they were long time friends. Taylor tries not to gape at the fairly butterfly with shiny abs in front of her and Karlie pretends to not notice.

When she performs, they share touches in a flirty way that feels intimate and Taylor dreams that night about Karlie’s hand touching something other than her arm.

She will never forget about Karlie again.

They fit together, like the missing pieces of a puzzle. It’s easy to laugh with Karlie, at her dirty jokes, at the way she sticks her tongue out when she’s thinking and the way she pronounces certain words.

“Impourthaunt.” Taylor teases and Karlie smacks her arm.

Karlie is good.

She’s also a giant, super lean and has broad shoulders that make her look handsome in that kind of way that makes Taylor want to know that body like its hers.

Karlie is refreshing in a way Taylor has never felt before. She has short auburn hair, barely reaching her jaw, makes kissy faces for every picture and smiles in a silly way that makes Taylor fuzzy inside.

Karlie is good.

Karlie takes her gloves off in the winter only so she can hold her hand, skin grazing skin, her long fingers enveloping Taylor’s own.

Karlie also is 6’2 and wears flats while Taylor wears heels only so they can be the same height.

Karlie is good.

Karlie is also the kind of person that uses dumb hashtags and owns the most awful collection of heels Taylor has ever seen but she also makes cookies to die for, stains her cheeks with cookie dough and Taylor absolutely doesn’t want to kiss it away.

Karlie feels like a light breeze of summer, hangs around at Taylor’s place barefoot more than anyone, shares to Taylor the receipt of her cookies.

Karlie is a friend.

Karlie smiles “Wanna hang out?” Taylor returns her smile “Yeah, it sounds like fun.”

Taylor calls all her schedule off only so she can be cooped up in West Village a whole weekend, barefoot and eating ice cream right out of the tub, chocolate stains on both their faces.

It’s nice to have a friend.

They sit on the roof of her Rhode Island home under a light pink sky, drink beer out of plastic cups and when their naked knees accidentally brush, Taylor’s breath absolutely doesn’t hitch.

Not in the slightest.

Karlie makes her feel something, something nice when their hands touch and their shoulder brush. Something that Taylor has been searching her whole life.

Karlie is a friend.

It’s nice to have a friend.

Karlie takes thousands of pictures and videos of Taylor, bakes a cake on her birthday, and rubs her hip in awards shows.

Karlie is a good friend.

Karlie doesn’t mind how much Taylor needs physical touch, isn’t bothered by Taylor holding onto her as if she needed it as much as she needs the air that she breathes. Instead, she encourages it.

And everyone was right. They turn to be best friends.

Karlie is her best friend.

The one she takes to a road trip and plays her 1989 before anyone else has heard it, because that’s what best friends do.

Best friends share cabins, exchange daisies and draw each other’s name in the sand with a heart.

And it is nice, the sensation of someone having her back every day, of looking over her shoulder just to find Karlie smiling back at her, of giving so much unconditionally.

But as much as Karlie gives, she also takes.

She takes her blue heart and turns it golden, eclipses Taylor’s coldness with her own warmth, and tucks her curly hair behind her ear.

Karlie is her best friend.

(Karlie could be a lover too.)

There’s something about Karlie, something about her that Taylor cannot put into words but writes hundred songs about it anyways. Because Taylor is a songwriter before anything else and what kind of artist would she be if she doesn’t scribble down how this girl from Missouri who can’t even pronounce some words right is making her lose her mind?

So Taylor kisses Karlie and Karlie kisses her back.

It’s new, the shape of Karlie’s body, the way her skin trembles under the touch of her hand, the way their hips fit together.

She wakes up with her head tucked in the crook of Karlie’s neck, listening to her heartbeat. Karlie tightens the grip of the arm that is draped over her waist.

It’s nice to have a friend.

It’s golden, loving Karlie, in a way that red never felt right. In a way that scares Taylor to death because she knows if the inevitable happens, time could never heal her.

Because everyone is always leaving in the end, but Karlie doesn’t.

Not even when she has every reason to do so, not even when grainy pictures of them kissing are exposed to the whole world.

It doesn’t mean they don’t fight.

They had been stressed out lately, Karlie staring out at the window. Taylor can’t talk to her when she’s like this, she has never could. The words that follow aren’t pretty.

Taylor dares Karlie to leave her, to be done with it for once, because deep down she knows she’s all Karlie wants even when she breaks her heart.

The way Karlie looks at her after those very words leave her mouth, rage, disbelief and the worst; hurt, has Taylor apologizing in seconds but Karlie has already stormed out of her apartament.

They don’t talk for a few days, and is easy to pretend nothing happned with lives as busy as theirs. But Taylor can’t take it anymore and when her jet touches ground in New York again, she sneaks to her bed.

Karlie, in a way, was waiting for her and she only pulls the blanket at the right side when she sees Taylor standing sheepishly at the foot of the bed.

They lay together that night, both staring at the ceiling, no one daring to turn and face each other, less than a foot apart.

And something gives Karlie the nerve to touch Taylor’s hand. They sleep like that, heavy breathes with nothing but their hands touching each other. 

“I’m sorry.” Taylor whispers to the darkness.

“I know.”

It’s nice to have a friend.

Karlie carries Taylor on her shoulders, for a moment forgetting they are the tallest leader ever with their heights joined together and Taylor hits her head with the ceiling. Karlie is worried at first, but then Taylor bursts out laughing and they laugh until tears that afternoon.

Taylor calls Karlie ‘babe’ and Karlie calls her out in her bluff in exchange.

It’s nice to have a friend.

Karlie dances with her, spins her around at the living room at the beat of Mockinbird by Carly Simon and James Taylor and Taylor throws her head back laughing, eyes glistening and oh so painfully in love.

Karlie also holds her that terrible night, dries Taylor’s tears with her own fingertips and Taylor falls asleep over her. In the morning, Karlie is still there, hair in a messy bun, pouring coffee and trying to bake her favorite cake.

It’s a sight to behold, Karlie oblivious of the pair of blue eyes watching her, humming softly and working smoothly with the batter. And when Taylor wraps her arms around her waist, surprising her with a kiss on her cheek and Karlie eyes widen, she forgets why she was sad in first place.

It’s chilly in November. The rice on the ground Karlie just knocked over looks like the snow on the sidewalks.

“We should run away.” Taylor says after they cleaned the mess.

“What?”

“Just you and me. Things have been shaky the last few months, and we really haven’t had time for us. It would do us good, disappearing for a few weeks.”

“Like Thelma and Louise?”

Taylor exhales. “Like Thelma and Louise.” She squeezes Karlie’s hand. “I appreciate everything you have done for me these months but Karlie, you don’t need to save me.” She takes a deep breath. “But would you run away with me?”

Karlie smiles and turns her world golden. “Yes.”

It is weird, Taylor thinks, because this is the worst time of her career and her reputation and she shouldn't be this happy, having some of the most beautiful times of her life.

But she is, because Karlie is by her side and Taylor finally figured her priorities right.

“I love you.” She says against Karlie’s chest, head resting on her shoulder. Karlie doesn’t say nothing but smiles in that way that Taylor is sure could power the whole city, a twinkle in her tired eyes.

It feels like home.

**Author's Note:**

> i have two INTHAF fics inspired... this is the cuter version. The other is the crackhead version and will be posted when my lazy ass decides to finish the draft.  
Also all the kaylor ideas i have omg... if my clown ass finally sits down to write them and my attention span lasts more than three minutes... y'all not ready.


End file.
